


A Bird in the Hand

by Hinny_B



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Owl Ford, Owl Stan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-08-07 14:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16409897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinny_B/pseuds/Hinny_B
Summary: Stan and Ford are supposed to be leaving for the Oregon coast, but Ford is nowhere to be found. Stan goes to investigate and discovers something small and feathery.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little drabble that popped into my head after seeing all the Owl Ford pictures. I've actually been sitting on it for several months and finally remembered to post it. Also, for your information, saw-whet owls don't make that deep "hoo-hoo" sound. It's a bit like a "oo-heet" and is high pitched.

Stan strode down the hall grumbling, his feet striking the newly replaced floorboards in a rapid beat.

“Ten minutes my ass,” Stan snorted. “It's been nearly an hour.” They were supposed to be leaving for the coast today. They'd found a boat, with Soos' Internet savvy help, and Stan wanted to get moving. He didn't relish driving the four, almost five hours, it would take to reach the Oregon coast. At least he would have company on this venture, even if Ford's driving skills were extremely rusty with this dimension's vehicles. Stan would be fine, as long as they left on time. Which currently wasn't happening.

“Ford!” he snapped, pounding his fist on the door of the elder twin's study. “You and your junk needed to be in the car twenty minutes ago. I don't want to be looking for a motel in the dark.”

There was no answer. Frowning, he jiggled the doorknob, and finding it unlocked, opened the door. 

“Stanford?”

He peeked inside and not immediately seeing his brother, wondered if he'd gone down to the basement lab. Ford had mentioned wanting to make some specialized instruments for their sea voyage, but he was certain all of that was still in the planning stages. They didn't even have a boat yet and they wouldn't have a chance to look at one if they didn't leave within the next thirty minutes. Well, technically they could, but Stan's cataracts made night driving a bit dodgy. What moron wants to meet at nine in the morning on a Saturday, Stan thought.

“Oo-heet!”

He jumped. Freaking animals! Something was always getting in.

“Oo-heet!”

Looking down, Stan noticed something, or rather a pile of somethings that made his blood freeze.

“Oh, no.”

Diving to the floor, he started rummaging through the familiar clothes heaped on the floor as the animal continued its cries. He felt something solid tumble about in Ford's red sweater when he picked it up and immediately cradled it in his arms.

“F-Ford? Is that you?” he asked, trying to keep calm while every siren in his head went off with big flashy red alert letters, and tiny Stans frantically ran in circles screaming “what do we do, what do we do?”

“Oo-heet.” 

The small something, that was probably, most definitely Ford, wriggled in his arms, sharp talons pricking through the yarn. Stan tried to help by keeping a firm surface for him to move against and holding the sweater taunt while he worked his way to the closest opening, the neck. He had a feeling what his brother had turned into before the small head of an angry saw-whet owl popped out.

“Heet!” Ford hooted at him.

“You're blaming me for this aren't you?” he asked, half-jokingly. “I wasn't even in the room.”

“Oooo-heeet,” Ford replied then squirmed and flapped his wings more, trying to free himself. 

Stan honestly wasn't sure Ford could understand him, but he hoped he did. It took another few minutes of fumbling before Stan managed to help free the bird from the sweater. Once on the floor, the small brown and white owl shook himself, smoothing his ruffled feather then began pecking at his clothes. Stan moved them, turning them over more until finally he uncovered a wooden carving of an owl.

He stared at the object then glanced at his brother who took it in his beak and flew haphazardly up onto the desk with it.

Rubbing his eyes under his glasses, he groaned.

“Guess we'll have to postpone the meeting until we figure this out, won't we?” he said.

“Oo-HEET.”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you. I'll go call the guy and tell him a family thing came up and see if we can put the meeting off a day.”

“OO-HEET.”

“Fine, two days. C'mon Dr. Owl.”

Standing up, he held out his fist for Ford to fly to, only to get a small ball of feathers thumping into his chest.

“You need to work on your landings Poindexter,” he chuckled, catching him before he hit the floor and setting him properly on his fist. “Ow! Tiny claws. Tiny claws.”

Stan swore he heard small hee-hees from him. This was going to be a long two days.


	2. Chapter 2

“No, of course we want to see it,” Stan said, pressing as much charm as he could into every word while simultaneously trying not to whine. The man on the other end of the line blew loudly, indicating he wasn't convinced. This was the second time in three days he'd been on the phone with the fisherman. Leaning against his office desk, one hand braced on the black laminate top, Stan smiled as wide as he could, pulling on his forty years of sales. “Look, you've got family, right?” A cough of acknowledgment. “Then you understand when something comes up. People get sick and they need a lot of care and stuff. Lots of rest, lots of fluids, don't disobey doctor's orders. You wouldn't want us showing up while we're still contagious with bird flu, would you?”

That remark got him a nip on his ear. Ford wasn't pleased by the jab at his current predicament. Stan sighed and tried not to shove the owl off his shoulder.

“It should've run its course by next weekend. Can we meet then?” He paused then, remembering Mabel, added one more word. “Please.”

A grunt and a mumble that sounded almost sounded like “sure, fine,” was the only reply before the line went dead.

“I think he said yes. Can't tell with that guy. Sounds like he's chewing a bag full of rocks.” 

“Oo-heet,” Ford hooted, bobbing his head.

“You know I can't actually understand you, right? And did you have to peck my ear?” He reached up, nearly dislodging Ford in the process. Snapping his wings out, Ford nearly smacked Stan in the side of the head, flapping them hurriedly to stay upright. Stan cried out, swearing.

“Damn it Stanford! Ow!”

Things hadn't been going well the last two days. Ever since he'd discovered his twin as a saw-whet owl, Stan had been trying to figure out how it'd happened. Obviously it had something to do with the carving of the owl Ford had shown him. How it worked besides the vague, it's magic, mumbo-jumbo was a mystery. He didn't want to turn into an owl himself, so he was left with one piece of paper holding the description and Ford's first observations on the item before his transformation. At least Ford still seemed to be Ford under those feathers, mostly.

He didn't want to speak about how stomach turning it was to watch the small owl descend upon a mouse and eat it the first night. It was too close to the times he'd been forced to eat rat during his vagrant days. Those hadn't been fun memories to have slam back into his head. He'd hoped all his memories or at least most of them were back now, but nope. Surprise! Twenty minutes in the bathroom losing whatever dinner he had left in his stomach. His brother had been more conscious of his diet since and did his hunting outside.

“Okay, down,” he snapped at last, snatching Ford up around the torso, pinning wings to his side, and setting him on the desk. “I'm sorry, but I needed something to make him sympathetic and not sell our boat before we have a chance to decide it's our boat. Plus, bird flu is a real thing.”

Ford huffed, tucking his head in, giving Stan as dirty a look as a softball with wings could give. The younger twin sighed deeply and sank into his wheeled office chair.

“What're we gonna do Ford? We're no closer to figuring this out than we were two days ago. You didn't leave me much to go by and you can't hold a pencil in that beak.” Running his hands over his face, under his glasses, he buried the heels of his hands in his eyes and leaned forward. His whole body drooped as if some weight were bearing down on him. A malleable weight that pressed down, molding itself around him, making him sink further into the desk with each moment until he was nearly doubled over. Only the particle board and laminate kept him from fully curling up.

“We haven't even set sail and already we're in trouble.”

“Oooo….” 

A soft feathery head bumped against his forehead, gently rubbing up and down. 

Stan lifted his head slightly and Ford continued his soft coo.

“It's not your fault, you didn't know what that thing would do,” Stan said. “I don't blame you, I just wish I was smart enough to figure out how to undo it. I mean, it took me thirty years to get the Portal running. Not exactly the brightest bulb in the box.” He sighed. “Sorry you're stuck with me.”

Ford froze. He stared wide eyed, both wings slowly unfurling until his primary feathers touched the desk top. Then suddenly he shook himself and snapped both wings to his side. He took three steps to the right so that he was directly in front of Stan. 

“Wha-” Before Stan could finish the question, Ford grabbed his face with his wings, pressing them against his cheeks.

“Oo-HEET, oooo, oo-heet, hooo,” he said.

Stan tried to pull away but Ford kept his wings firm. Not wanting to damage the wings, he stayed put.

“Oo-HEET, oooo, oo-heet, hooo,” Ford hooted forcefully.

“If you trying to tell me I'm not stupid, I have about sixty years worth of proof telling you otherwise,” Stan grumbled. Ford headbutted him.

“Oo-HEET, oooo, oo-heet, hooo.”

“You really think so?”

It was said in a hushed, disbelieving tone. Stan ducked his head, eyes firmly fixed on the desk as something twisted in him, made him feel like a child. A child who'd spent years hearing his brother praised for straight As and ability to recite facts he'd read clearly and barely gotten a 'good job' for his drawings. Who'd been asked time and time again why he couldn't be like his twin. A child relegated to being nothing more than a shadow, a bad copy of his brilliant sibling. His twin had built the Portal in less than a year, but Stan hadn't gotten in working in thirty. If that wasn't showcasing the mountainous difference in their intelligence, Stan didn't know what could. 

All the praise after Weirdmageddon felt distant, like he was playing a part, something akin to his Mr. Mystery personna. People called him a hero, and with everything everyone did to help re-establish his memories, he almost believed it. For a brief time, before all the regret, anger, and mistake filled memories returned, he'd been truly happy with who he was.

Yet, here he was again. His brother an owl and he two days into this mess with no idea where to turn. It was as if he was staring up at the Portal again, holding Journal 1, with his shoulder blistering, and the knowledge he was too dumb to understand what all the gobble-Dee-gook in those pages meant. 

“Oo-heet?” Ford folded one wing, leaving the other to brush Stan's cheek.

“I ain't smart Ford,” Stan muttered. “I can lie with the best of 'em, swindle a person blind, but this magic crap… Been here three decades, yet I still got in trouble with a hand witch this summer. You'd think I'd know better.” He buried his face in his hands again. “If our places were switched, you'd have this figured out by now.”

Ford shook his head and gave a sad hoot. He hopped forward until he was up against his twin. Cooing, he rubbed his head against Stan's hands. 

Stan wished Ford could talk, that he could write, that… Suddenly he jolted upright. Without a word he stood, his wheeled chair skidding backwards into the wall.

“Of course!” 

He snatched a startled Ford around the wings and body, picked him up and practically ran out of the room. Up the stairs he bolted to the attic where he set Ford down on one of the makeshift nightstands between the two beds. In the corner was a blue shag carpet. He cleared some room on the floor, ignoring the remnants of Mabel's glittery projects, and laid it out. Toeing out of his shoes, Stan shuffled his sock clad feet on the carpet, building up a good charge of static electricity before approaching the owl.

Realizing what Stan was about to do, Ford hesitated a moment too long before trying to fly away. The man, reached both hands out, snagging him mid-launch. There was a crackle, a violent shudder and the two collapsed to the floor. 

Stan groaned, or rather tried to, but his vocal cords only emitted a low “oooo”. He opened his eyes, finding things in too sharp of focus for what he was used to. It was like everything was set at the highest resolution. He swore he could see every fiber of the carpet.

He heard a loud groan. The floor vibrated as his human body moved without him. If Stan could smile, he would have, instead he concentrated on rolling his new small feathery body so that he could get his feet underneath him. Ford could figure this mess out now that he had opposable thumbs again, he was sure.

“What the- Stanley!” Ford exclaimed in Stan's gravelly voice. He shuffled until he was on his hands and knees in front of Stan. “Well, I suppose this is one way for us to communicate, but...” he sighed. “You didn't have to do this. We were doing well enough before. Maybe I was a bit nippy, but you're just as capable as me of undoing the enchantment.”

Stan shook his head.

“You are. I don't know or rather, I don't understand why you think you aren't. I thought...” He pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing slowly in and out. It was a few seconds before he spoke again.

“You're incapable of speech currently, but maybe that's good because you need to listen to what I have to say.”

He scooped up Stan, carefully, and set him on the nearest bed. Then he got up, his back cracking, a grunt escaping as he did and sat next to him. The bed dipped dramatically, sending Stan tumbling into Ford's knee. 

“How did your back get this bad?” Ford asked, pressing one hand against his lower back. “And we're going to have to do something about your prescription, things are a bit, blurry around the edges. Nevermind. We'll talk about it later.” He patted his knees and Stan got the hint. 

Flapping his new wings, Stan felt how to take off instinctually and made the hop, flap, jump onto his brother's knee. He tried not to dig his talons to much into the pants as he didn't want to buy a new pair. Ford ran a hand through his, well, Stan's, silver hair, piecing together what he wanted to say.

“You're not stupid Stan. I know I dismissed much of what you did to fix the Portal when I first came home, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. Like most things with you, I should've looked deeper, beyond the superficial.” He smiled sadly. “I know we've spoken a little about this, but your memories were still sorting themselves out. You weren't you yet, so I didn't want to delve too deeply into my observations of your handiwork on the Portal. And I had my own regrets over my behavior to sort through.”

“I noticed all the additions and work arounds you did when I was dismantling it. Bill wanted it to lock onto the Nightmare Realm. He sabotaged the plans from the very beginning and I was too blind to see it. But you weren't. I found your notebooks when I was searching the lab for anything to help jog your memory. I didn't read them thoroughly, only enough to realize how incredibly dedicated and expansive your knowledge was. And how much you struggled and hated yourself.”

He looked sorrowfully down at Stan. “I'm so sorry you felt that way. I didn't want you feeling like that any more, so I didn't give them to you. I selfishly hoped that everyone showing you how much they cared, how much you meant to them, that you are our hero, that you'd stop feeling that way. I was apparently wrong.”

Stan stared, unsure what to do. He remembered the notebooks, the long nights he'd worked and studied trying to make sense of weird codes, strange jumbles of arithmetic that made little sense to his non-high school graduate self, and the frustrating switching measurement nomenclature. In everything that had happened in the last couple of weeks, he hadn't thought of them. He'd assumed them lost.

A five fingered hand, reached out and carefully stroked his head. Ford tried to smile, but his lips trembled and it was quickly lost. Stan wanted to cheer him up, to tell him things were better, that those truly dark days were behind him, the ones he'd written about. There were still shadows, but they didn't threaten to consume him as they had once.

Ford wasn't done speaking though. 

“You did so much. Learned so much. I bet we could, if you wanted, find a way for you to earn a doctorate or PhD or five in astrophysics, genetics, or any of the other half dozen schools of science you delved into. The point is, those books are a testament that you aren't stupid. You are smart. Smarter than anyone in the past has given you credit for. 

“I had a demon giving me the equations I needed to build the Portal, you took the mess I left behind and made it work with a third of my notes. Dipper told me you didn't have Journals 2 and 3 until midway through the summer. From everything I read, it looked like you were only missing the start up code.

“Even if you don't believe me right now. You're my hero. You're smart, brave, and clever. If anyone says different, even you, I will be there to correct them. Do you understand?”

If he could cry, Stan would. He'd deny it terribly, swear there was dust in his eyes, an eye lash fell in them, someone was cutting onions, or it was raining, but he would be. Instead, Stan bobbed his head and rubbed his feathers against Ford's hand.

“Good.” Ford's voice cracked a little and he coughed clearing his throat. “Now let's see if we can undo this, we have a boat to see a man about next Saturday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter took a slightly angsty turn I had not intended when I started it. At least the brothers are communicating, sort of. Stan so needs a hug. Ford too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than expected due to a rampant case of the crud going through the household. (Curse you unidentifiable illness!)
> 
> Switching POV for this chapter for some Ford feels.

Being in Stan's body was giving Ford a plethora of things to be concerned about. His weight was obvious, especially after seeing his twin's eating habits first hand over the last several weeks. What wasn't obvious were the cataracts, the back pain, the hearing loss in one ear, and the lack of original dentia. How had Ford not noticed his brother wore dentures? With Stan currently in Ford's owl body, he couldn't get an answer to why he hadn't taken better care of himself. Sixty shouldn't feel like this, right? At least Ford in his normal body didn't feel like this. Perhaps he wasn't as physically old as he should be. There had been that dimension where time wasn't linear and jumped around sporadically, he remembered. He might actually be younger than Stan. That was something he'd have to check later.

He poured himself a glass of water, mentally making a list of things he was going to insist his brother do the moment this was sorted out. First being to get a complete health check up and second having cataract surgery before they left. Sure, it would set them back a few weeks while he healed, but it was one thing that wouldn't take months to correct. A better diet, more exercise, and Stan's weight could be lowered, Ford was certain.

His, or rather Stan's stomach rumbled. Right, Stan didn't take nutrient pills like he did and it was well past standard lunchtime. Ford paused, mulling over whether it was a good idea to introduce Stan to them. His supply was limited now with no way to replenish them in this dimension. This would be a good time as any to ease back into eating non-pill food. His stomach rumbled again and he turned to the refrigerator.

Stan was perched on the back of one of the chairs, watching. 

“We should switch back once it gets dark out. My body will need nourishment and considering how you reacted the first day, I'm not sure you're up to dining on members of the rodentia family,” Ford said, opening the door and taking stock of what was inside. 

“Ooo-heet, hee.”

“I'm not sure if you're telling me you think you can handle that body's instincts or if you're agreeing with me.” He pulled out a tupperware dish and popped the lid. It was some sort tortilla wrapped concoction dripping in a dark sauce, probably from Soos' grandmother he reasoned. Stan like her cooking, right? Stan's body and taste buds wouldn't object to it. He pulled it out then looked about for some sort of vegetable to go with it. A bag of small peeled carrots was placed on top. There, he'd have a few bites, take the edge off his hunger.

“From what I observed before my transformation, there was no writing or pictographs on the figure,” he said, hunting for a fork and knife in the pile of dishes on the drying rack next to the sink. Finding them, he sat down at the table, setting his meal in front of him. Stan hopped out of the way, giving him some space to put down the carrots.

“Whatever I did to trigger the spell had to be placed on through other means. Most likely spoken.”

He cut off a small piece of the wrapped tortilla, the innards oozing slightly as they squished out. For a moment he hesitated staring at was most likely a mixture of beans and cheese, but reminded him of a very repugnant, barely edible slurry of food and medicine that had been forced down him in Dimension 21-QA. He almost put it down, but a soft confused hoot from Stan and his borrowed body's grumbling stomach changed his mind.

Feeling like child being forced to eat lima beans, Ford took a deep breath, let it out then shoved the bite of tortilla into his mouth. The cold sauce hit his taste buds and for a moment he wondered what marvelous ingenious person devised this. Was it some long guarded family recipe or something anyone could learn because, it was so taste-buds-dancing good. Then the gummy texture of the sauce soggy wrap made him question assessment of 'good'. He almost spit it out, only for it to be brought back by the smooth, if occasionally lumpy interior with its salty, but otherwise benign taste.

Swallowing, he blinked twice then stared down at it.

“Perhaps this should be warmed up,” he said.

Stan gave him an exaggerated eye roll, which was mostly rolling his whole head from one side to the other.

“I take it, it's supposed to be eaten hot?” he asked, standing up and taking the container to the microwave

“Ooo-wheet.”

“I'll take that as a yes.”

While he waited for his meal to heat, Ford opened the carrots and ate a few. Stan bobbed around the table for no apparent reason. Probably restless, Ford decided taking the now warm container out and returning to the table. It was much better hot and left him wanting the recipe, not just for Stan's sake, but his too. If it could be made with canned or non-perishable ingredients, it'd make a nice addition to their diet. In small doses considering he wasn't sure of the nutritional content yet.

He started when his fork held nothing several minutes later. Looking down, he noticed the empty container with just smears of sauce left.

“Oh,” he murmured, blinking confusedly. Soft coos that suspiciously resembled laughter, echoed from Stan and he glared back at him. “Well, yes. Now that I've settle the pit that is your stomach, let's get back to the matter at hand.” He cleaned up him meal, continuing to speak as he did. “As I was saying earlier. I believe the spell is or was voice activated or at least the initial implantation of the enchantment on the carving. This begs the question, was it voice activated to set off the enchantment or was it something else?”

Sticking the carrots back in the fridge, he turned and leaned against the closed door, thinking. Had he picked up the figurine with his bare hands or gloved hands initially? If with gloved hands, then bare skin alone could be a trigger, except Stan had touched it with bare hands after the transformation. So tactile stimulation wasn't it. 

Shaking his head, he pushed off from the door, paused by the table to let Stan hop up on his fist, then headed back to his study. The carved owl sat on the desk surrounded by Stan's and his scribbled notes. With no real way to communicate other than one hoot for no, two hoots for yes, they hadn't made much head way. It was still more than he'd made the first day before he'd been turned, but it wasn't solving the problem. 

He let Stan off on the desk and began pacing.

Focusing on what he'd been doing immediately before he'd been turned, Ford tried to remembered what he'd said out loud. Mostly half thoughts or exclamations, like “fascinating” or “interesting”. He wished he knew how old the wood was, when it was carved, because that could narrow down the language of the trigger word or phrase.

Sighing in frustration, he gave up his pacing and pulled a set of gloves from the desk drawer. 

“I'm going to examine it again. The gloves are a precaution in case it activates by touch. Yes, I know you were touching it with bare hands earlier, but I don't know if it has a cool down period between cursing or not,” Ford explained, donning the gloves.

The final finger on each hand flopped freely. He froze at the sensation and held them up, realization slamming into him for the first time. Four fingers and a thumb. Five total. FIVE. He, Stanford Pines, for the first time in his life, was perfectly normal.

His breathing hitched, became ragged as the rational part of his brain reminded him this was Stanley's body, not his. Those were Stanley's hands, not his. His were currently transformed and covered with feathers. That he shouldn't be panicking over something that wasn't his to begin with and that he should've been far more panicked over the transformation, which he hadn't. The emotional part was having a complete melt down at the sight of the empty finger in the glove.

“Oo? Ooo-wheet?”

“What? I'm fine,” he said slowly, flexing the fingers and watching them mesmerized. It felt so alien. So wrong. “I simply...It's silly, really...I always wondered about this as a child, but...”

Taking a deep breath and counting as he slowly released it, Ford tried to gather his stray thoughts and feelings. To collect them and attempt to make sense or push past them and focus on what was important. Another breath and another count to ten and he felt better. Stan watched him and Ford tried to give him a reassuring smile.

“It just hit me how odd this is.” He sat down at the desk, setting down and spreading out his hands in front of him. “How it's both something I longed for in our youth, but now that I'm seeing it, even in a borrowed body, it's shocking.”

Stan rubbed his head against Ford's arm reassuringly, cooing.

Ford smiled and rested a hand on his twin's feathery head gently. “Thank you.” 

Picking up the carving, Ford turned it gently, looking for anything that he or Stan might have missed. There were the, by now, familiar loops and whorls in the wood grain, but with Stan's eyes, nothing stood out to him. It looked like any other wood carving. Stan hooted and nudged a magnifying glass toward, which he picked up with a 'thank you' and continued the examination.

After a very long stretch of silence, Ford set the magnifying glass down and rubbed his eyes.

“I have come to the conclusion,” he said wearily, “that I have no idea how I triggered the enchantment. There is absolutely no writing on this carving. This leads me to the conclusion that it was somehow voice activated. We should, therefore, go back to the caverns to which I discovered it and examine the location for clues.”

Glancing at his brother, he waited for a response of some sort. The owl looked up at him with his large eyes, and for a moment Ford worried that Stan had somehow lost his human consciousness. Then Stan closed his eyes and nodded.

“I'll pack some supplies and we'll head out immediately. It shouldn't take us more than an hour to reach the spot.” 

He pushed the chair back and stood, only to have his back refuse to straighten. For thirty seconds he couldn't do more than place his hands on the desk and slowly, very slowly push up, forcing the clenched muscles to unclench. Once he had, he stared directly at his brother.

“I've deduced why you have back problems,” Ford said glumly. “We both need a better solution than hunching over desks reading or working for long hours.” Leaning back, he stretched out the muscles as best he could. Who'd have thought he'd be upset that his twin had spent too much time studying? “Moving about will definitely help. Let's get going, shall we?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ending took longer than expected. Part of it was I was swamped with things during December that made writing difficult. The other was simply that I had writing fatigue. I still love Stan and Ford being owls and part of me wants play with this idea again later, but for now, let's get these two back in their own bodies and off to buy a boat.

Stan glided through the forest, enjoying the freedom of flying under his own power. To this form, it was natural, but to his mind it was such a foreign and glamorous concept that he was taking full advantage of it. Sure, there was still some lingering fear of heights from before, but Mabel and Weirdmaggedon had done much to help him push through or rationalize it. And frankly it was fun!

Behind him, Ford trudged with a backpack laden with water, some sci-fi tech he'd brought with him from the Portal, and an extra change of clothes. He'd been concerned that if they discovered how to undo the spell, there was a possibility that it'd dispel leaving Ford's body normal, but naked. Stan didn't see what the problem was, he'd seen quite a bit of Ford when they'd been swapping clothes for the final con against Bill. A few tattoos and some scarring was nothing to be ashamed of. Okay, the cartoon star proclaiming it was an all star was a bit silly, but tattoo removal was possible now if Ford didn't want it anymore.

“The cave isn't too far past the large hemlock stump,” Ford said. 

Stan glanced down and noticed the stump. Circling it three times before his brother caught up and they proceeded forward. 

“I must admit,” Ford continued, “That you're in better shape than I thought. Not like I am, but I've been running from dimension to dimension for thirty years. Though, that's not saying I haven't noticed some things and we will be discussing them when we're back in our proper bodies.”

If Stan could have rolled his eyes, he would have. Instead, he flew ahead, avoiding branches until he spotted the hillside the cave was supposed to be in.

They'd been steadily climbing upwards for the last hour, but the hill in front seemed jut out out of nowhere. Not in sharp angles with exposed rocks, but a soft rounding that felt as if some giant mole had pushed up part of the land. Stan wouldn't be surprised if that hadn't happened.

Landing on the pine needle littered ground, he cocked his head staring at what most likely was the entrance. A gap along the base looked more like a burrow of some slumbering bear than where they'd find carved artifacts. He was about to call to question his decision this was even the right place when Ford caught up.

“Ah, there we go.”

That settled that question. Stan ruffled his feathers and hooted.

Ford, already shrugging out of the backpack and unzipping it, paid little attention to the perplexed tone the hoot had taken. He spent a few minutes pulling out a flashlight and one of the new headlamps they'd purchased for their upcoming voyage. Next, he put on a pair of Soos' work gloves that he'd borrowed, being unable to locate any of Stan's. He flexed his hand, staring a moment as the five fingers curled and uncurled.

Stan gave a short, “heet!” startling him out of his revery.

“Sorry, it's still, I mean I know this is your body, but...” He sighed, pulling out a couple of plastic bags and shoving them in his coat pocket along with a small paint brush. “You're back isn't going to forgive me for what I'm about to do, I think.”

Kneeling in front of the entrance, Ford took a deep breath, turned on the headlamp and flashlight, laid on his stomach and shimmied his way into the cave. A moment later he called up.

“Come in Stanley, it's not as bad as you think.”

Stan debated whether he really wanted to crawl in before wanting to smack his head with his wing. He was the size of a softball. Doing a little hop-walk over, he peered in. The entrance slopped down then dropped off suddenly a foot or two in. He could see Ford kneeling not too far inside the hollowed out earth. Time to become a burrowing owl he thought.

Moments later his talons touched down on the stone and dirt cave floor and he gave a quick hoot to alert his twin of his presence.

“I found the carving on the ground over here, but look all around. If we don't find anything of interest then we'll move further in.”

Owl eyes were good at seeing in dimly lit places. It gave him an advantage in deciphering what lay on the ground. Ford kept the lights away from him, which he appreciated. The few times his brother turned his head to him, had been blinding and a touch painful to his head.

There were plenty of things on the ground. Mostly bones from whatever animals had denned there last, but also mushrooms, rocks, and beetles. The last kept drawing his attention as they moved about, mostly due to his owl hunting instincts. Once they'd swept the area, Ford scooped up Stan and they moved deeper in.

“I explored fairly deep last time,” Ford said, ducking as the ceiling narrowed. “I found the carving on the way out, so don't lose hope that we haven't found anything else yet.”

Ford walked slowly, flashlight pointed at the ground. It didn't help Stan, so he fluttered up onto Ford's shoulder and faced the way they'd come, checking to see if Ford missed anything. They continued on this way as the cave descended further and further and the space narrowed. Neither of them seeing anything out of the ordinary and growing frustrated in the process.

Eventually the cave dwindling to nothing.

\- - -

The flashlight wavered, nearly slipping from Ford's grip. Nothing. There had been nothing in the cave and now they'd come to the end. How could there be nothing? No pictographs, no carvings, not even some repugnant graffiti suggesting “for a good time call”. They were stuck with Ford's body still as an owl with Stan residing in it. For all his calmness over the predicament he'd gotten them into, Ford was quickly losing it. It was one thing for him to be paying for his own mistakes, for being too curious and not taking precautions when he should have known better, but Stan was involved. And the longer this went on the more involved his twin got, the more guilty Ford felt.

He was delaying their trip. If he hadn't gone exploring last week, if he'd simply stuck to making lists of supplies, or talking upgrades to their non-existent yet boat with Fiddleford, they wouldn't be in this mess. What harm in taking a walk through the forest and investigating a cave was there? Plenty and he should've known better. And he accused Stan of being the thoughtless one.

Rubbing his eyes under his glasses, Ford took a deep irritated breath. He'd had worse things happen during his dimensional travels. He could figure this out and he wasn't alone, he reminded himself. Even if the guilt was swirling in the back of his brain, he knew Stan would never abandon him. Not after he'd dedicated thirty years of his life to getting him home.

“We'll retrace our steps to the entrance. There is a chance we missed something,” he said tightly. The roughness in his, really Stan's voice, seemed worse than normal. He swallowed twice then shimmied back a few paces in order to turn around more easily.

Stan dropped off his shoulder to the ground. He landed on the rocky floor and hopped forward to the wall in front of him. 

“Oo-heet! Oo-heet!”

Turning back, Ford frowned. “What is it?”

A wing went out and Stan swept it out over the dirt and gravel. Getting down on his knees, Ford's flashlight and headlamp lit up the floor and shiny carapaces of a line of beetles. They were all moving in the direction of the wall and into it. Strange, beetles didn't normally walk in lines like ants. He scooted closer to the wall, resting his hand on it. It was cool, damp, and crumbled easily when he dug his fingers into it.

“It's compacted dirt, but not compacted so hard we can't dig through it,” he said. Craning his neck up, he checked the ceiling and realized what he thought was relatively solid, if not stone, was in fact hard packed dirt as well. The whole hillside above them could cave in with just the right amount of snow pack or heavy amount of rain.

“I've never seen beetles in this area create trails like that either. Or in these numbers.” Ford eyed the wall again. “We need some kind of supports before we start digging through there. But if they're getting through, then there must be more cave beyond.”

“Oooo-heet, wheet!” Stan hooted then suddenly attacked the dirt. 

“Stanley!”

He made a one handed grab at the owl only to have dirt kicked in his face. 

“No. Stop. You'll destabilize the wall. We have to do this carefully so we don't cause a cave in! What do you think you are? A burrowing owl?”

“Wheet.”

“You're not. Stop. We'll go back, I'll call Fiddleford and come up with a way to support the- You're not even listening! Stop digging this instant!”

“OO.”

He crossed his arms and glared hard at his twin before making a second attempt. A shower of dirt pelted his face and his palms hit the wall on either side of the rapidly enlarging hole.

“Stanley...” he growled. “I don't want to die and I don't want to be accused of fratricide.”

“HooOO-heet.”

“Stanley Pines!” he snarled, letting the flashlight drop to the ground. Both hands free, there was no chance of avoiding him now.

Ford dove for him, dirt spraying in his face as Stan dug further in. Flesh met feathers briefly as Stan scooted hastily into the hole, and Ford yanked back too soon. Stan squealed as best a bird is able, at once sending a pang of guilt mixed with sadistic triumph through Ford.

“Get out here now or I start pulling tail feathers,” he warned. 

His twin replied by biting one of his fingers. Rearing back, Ford wasn't quite fast enough to avoid the beak, the hard keratin slicing into his finger.

“Ouch! Stanley! You know what FINE, crush your body- No. That's my body and I don't want us dieing because of this. Please stop.”

The owl stared up at him and for a moment, Ford thought he was going to listen to him. Then he turned around and kept burrowing. Ford snarled and lunged for him only for the tiny owl to slip through the hole he'd made and disappear completely. No more dirt flew out at him. He picked up the flashlight from where he'd dropped it and shown the light through the hole. From the other side he could hear things being turned over. He laid down on the ground, the beetle moving past his face into the darkness beyond and occasionally a bit of owl slipped into view of the light. Minutes ticked away as he held his tongue, waiting.

Suddenly something was flipped into view. Reaching through the hole with his injured hand, Ford picked up small carved figure of a nondescript human. 

“Oo-wheet, heet, oo-wheet,” Stan said hopping into the light fully.

“We'll talk about your recklessness later, but I think this is exactly what we're looking for,” Ford replied with a grin. “Come on Stanley, let's head home.”

\- - -

The trek back was quick, but the path home always felt quick. It was a thought Ford hadn't had in decades. Home. He supposed the Mystery Shack was his house, but it hadn't felt like home even after he'd returned. Now as the peaked roof and large letters came into view, he realized it was beginning to feel like home. Maybe it was because of the owl resting on his shoulder. Smiling, he stepped out into the clearing and headed for the back door.

First things first, head to his room and retrieve his healing ointment from dimension H-33/_ for Stan's hand. It would be courteous to treat the wound before switching back. Stan didn't seem to mind the delay. He perched on the back of the chair, his eyes half lidded and head snuggled down between his shoulders. By the time Ford was through cleaning, disinfecting, and wrapping the wound, he was asleep.

“We wore my body out today didn't we?” He chuckled lightly.

He took the human figure out from his coat pocket and examined it through the plastic bag. It seemed made of the same wood as the owl. When Stan had moved it into Ford's reach, he hadn't turned back, confirming what he already knew. Touch was not how to activate the curse, yet how were they to reverse it if Stan or he, in the owl body couldn't speak?

He sat on the couch under the window and thought. Maybe he could make a translator of some sort that worked off brain waves. His old experiment in the secret study could be reconfigured. As his mind whirled and clicked, following lines of thought, discarding them and trying different ones as they lead to dead ends, he hardly noticed himself growing tired. After trying and failing five times to remember the conversion of ounces to grams, he gave up and laid down.

The sky was dark when he awoke to a cooing sound. Stan was standing on the couch cushion near his head making soft sounds in an attempt to wake him. He smiled, glad his brother had decided not to screech in his ear. 

“I'm up, I'm up,” he said, gently and suppressing the urge to groan loudly as Stan's body protested moving. Yawning and stretching, he took a moment to right himself and retrieve his glasses from where he'd placed them on the window sill earlier. 

“I think I have an idea of what to do, but it's going to take the rest of the week to do it. I don't like the idea of borrowing your body for that long, but yours is the only one with opposable thumbs.” 

Stan bobbed his head in understanding. His gaze fell on the carving still in the plastic bag. Ford reached for it, but Stan grabbed it first and held it up to him.

“Thank you.”

He got up and went to sit back at the desk. Putting on his gloves and opening the bag he spoke to his twin.

“I want to do a preliminary examination of this figure. See if there are any similarities and write it down. Remind me to make a new journal or two before we leave. I will probably need them on our travels.”

He took the carving out, but dropped it a moment later as he turned it over. He obviously wasn't as awake as he thought. The carving rolled off the desk onto the floor where Stan dove on it. His talons trapping it.

“Maybe some coffee before I start.” He stood up, stretching more as he did.

Stan gave an exaggerated roll of his head.

“Don't. We need to sort this out and-”

“Oo-HEET.”

“Are you telling me no?”

Before Ford could lean down and pick up the carving or give his twin a lecture, Stan began to shake. For a split second, Ford thought he was being laughed at, but a pained squawk stopped him. Without another warning feathers began to fall off and Stan began to grow. His form elongating and shifting as it did. 

Adrenaline poured into Ford, waking him and sending him rushing for the blankets stored in the closet. He yanked the top one off and turned, throwing it over Stan's now three times as large featherless body. Then he waited.

The transformation took about three minutes. Two minutes and twenty-seven seconds by his watch, but he had to add at least thirty seconds for getting the blanket. 

“Stanley?” he asked tentatively, inching closer to the blanket covered mound.

“Yeah?”

“Are you human again?”

The whole mound shifted upright and a moment later a familiar gray haired face poked out.

“Yeah, appears so. I feel really freaking weird though.”

“Some disorientation. Yes, I had that when I first changed.” Ford coughed. “We'll give it a few minutes then I say we get dressed and back in our own bodies.”

Stan squinted up at him. “Sounds good.”

A dozen questions buzzed in his mind as he pulled out a blue sweater Mabel had made him before she left. A flying saucer on the front with the Big Dipper behind it on the left and Gemini on the right. He smiled at the warm memories it conjured before digging about for pants. The questions surged forward and Ford realized he needed to ask a few crucial ones before the answers dulled in Stan's mind.

“Did you do anything to the carving?”

“No. I mean, besides touching it. But I'd touched it in the cave and we'd determined touch wasn't the reason.”

“Yes and other than hooting, you didn't say anything. Perhaps the spell had a time limit.”

Stan shrugged and accepted the pants Ford gave him. It was strange giving yourself clothes like this.

“Maybe.” He frowned then gave Ford a look.

“What?”

“A little privacy Poindexter.”

“Really? It's my body. I have seen myself naked my entire life.”

Stan continued to wait. Sighing loudly, Ford turned his back.

“Was there anything else? What were you trying to say? Was there a particular movement you made?” Ford asked, crossing his arms.

“Honestly, I told you no way. You shouldn't be pulling all nighters. I kept thinking I wish I had arms to freakin' wrestle the coffee away from you. Maybe hide it or burn it.”

“Stan we both drink coffee.” Ford said flatly.

“Not at night we don't. I try to go to bed at a reasonable time now. Sweater.”

Ford turned and dropped it on his head. “C'mon Knucklehead. Let's go switch back.”

“Yeah, yeah. You just don't want to be in a body with a busted back.”

“And ears. What did you do to lose most of the hearing in your left ear?”

Stan shrugged into the sweater. “I don't quite remember. I vaguely have snippets of what could've been an underground boxing ring. Either that or it was an underground roller derby ring. I'm not sure.”

Helping his twin to his feet, Ford guided them upstairs to the electron carpet. 

It wasn't until the next morning that Ford came up with a working hypothesis for the carvings.

“Intent,” he said as if that explained it all. The furrowed brows on Stan's face told him he needed to elaborate. “You said you thought about keeping me away from the coffee. That you wished you had arms to do so.”

Standing by the kitchen sink, Stan nodded. He pulled a pair of bowls from the drying rack and went about setting up for their oatmeal. Including taking out brown sugar, raisins, and the dried cranberries Ford was fond of.

“Yeah, so?”

“So. So I didn't remember until this morning that I had briefly wondered what it'd be like to scour the forest at night.”

“You mean, you wished you were an owl, while holding the carving?” Stan asked, filling the kettle with water.

“Yes. I believe so. At least I'm fairly certain I was holding it when I let my thoughts wander.”

A bark of a laugh made his cheeks tint in embarrassment. 

“Don't worry Ford. I'm pretty sure everyone at one time or another wanted to be a bird.” He flashed him a smile. “Although, I think I'm good for a while.”

“Same,” Ford replied. “So, boat shopping this weekend?”

“Yes, finally!” 

“Yes. Finally.”


End file.
